


Corded Crow

by D_elfie



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blow Jobs, Gay Sex, M/M, Rope Bondage, ropeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-11-02 12:10:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20741435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_elfie/pseuds/D_elfie
Summary: Alistair is intrigued by how Zevran contains a captive and wants to learn.





	Corded Crow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tatteredleaf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tatteredleaf/gifts).

Denerim had that hush around it that suggested trouble. The dogs were quiet; there was no scurrying of rats. Even the drunks were suspiciously absent from the alleyways.

Maybe Wynne had been right to disapprove of the Warden taking a quest from the Crows. The Wardens were above being knives for hire. Maybe their companions were not – Zevran and Leliana seemed quite skilled in the matter – but Wardens were meant to kill darkspawn, not men.

"Where is --mmph." Zevran's hand was suddenly firmly clamped over Alistair's mouth.

"Shh," Zevran hissed against Alistair's neck. His breath was warm. Cloying.

Alistair jerked away, spinning to look behind him. He emitted a small squeak as he swallowed the curse that threatened to escape. He could just make out Zevran in the dark. While the darkness felt like it was closing in around him, in reality there were several sources of dim light that spilled into the alley.

Squinting, Alistair examined Zevran. A finger was over his lips, emphasizing his hushing of Alistair. Zevran's body was taut, ready to spring into action at the first sign of trouble. He stood facing Alistair, but his eyes never rested on him long, darting around the alley. Zevran was always on guard. His Crow training made him the best lookout. He spotted things and heard sounds before any of the others. Being a Warden was apparently nothing compared to being a Crow. If he was going to admit it, Alistair was slightly jealous of Zevran. The Antivan was all the things Alistair was not: self-assured, well-spoken, lithe, nimble, handsome, seductive... Alistair had watched Zevran seduce the Warden. He'd heard them...

He suddenly realized Zervan was whispering something... about the Pearl? Alistair blinked, shifting focus back.

"...through the back door, then you follow ready to be the muscle." Was Zevran looking at his arms as he said that? And was that a glint in his eyes?

_Alistair, you idiot, you're on a mission. Get your head in the game._

He nodded dumbly to show he'd heard Zevran. Even if he hadn't heard the beginning of what he’d said, they'd already discussed the plan while at camp. They knew the password to get to Paedan. Everybody knew their roles. And no one wanted to let the Warden down.

The Warden would take Leliana, Morrigan, Sten and Shale with her through the front door. They’d go to the room and say the password. Zevran and Alistair were to slip in through the alley entrance and stop anyone making a dash for it.

_Squuueeal_

Both Alistair and Zevran cringed. Someone hadn't been attending to the hinges on the door...

Zevran poked his head through the gap in the doorway and waited. When no one came to investigate (and why would they? Half their patrons "snuck in" via the alley), Zevran slipped in. He left the door ajar and Alistair watched him glide silently down the hallway and disappear through a door.

Alistair had no idea how anyone could move like that. He felt that when he moved, he sounded like a pot-seller's cart driving down a pockmarked road. He tried to be quiet. He really did. Sure, his armour didn't help. Zervan wore leathers whereas Alistair was covered in chain and plate. But, even in the Chantry, when he was a boy training to be a Templar, the Sisters were constantly shushing him. Once, he had tried sneaking into the larder to steal a wedge of cheese -- he was always hungry, even before the Joining -- and had knocked over a crock of butter and the metal pot of stew left over from dinner. Not only did he leave empty handed, he had Chantry-cleaning duties for two weeks to make up for his attempted theft. So no... Alistair had no idea how to move quietly and swift as the wind, and he admired Zevran his ability.

A cat’s loud cry broke Alistair from his musings. It was one of the first sounds of life he'd heard since they entered the city an hour previous... it took him a moment to realize it wasn't an owl. It was Zevran's call indicating Alistair was safe to enter.

Edging the door open further -- Alistair was broader across the shoulder than Zevran -- he entered the Pearl, leaving the ominous silence of the night behind him.

Two steps in and the floorboards creaked under Alistair's weight. He stopped, horrified, and waited for the sound of rushing footsteps as someone came to confront him. They never came. He strained to hear over his own heavy breathing and all he heard was faint, shrill laughter and the grunts and moans one would expect inside a brothel. His face reddened as he realized what he was hearing, now frozen to the spot from embarrassment.

"Psht!"

That sound didn't match... Alistair stared down the hallway, head cocked to the side.

Zevran's head poked out of a cracked door. He widened his eyes and arched his eyebrows at Alistair, jerked his head in the direction of the room he was occupying, then disappear back into the room. 

Chastising himself for once again nearly blowing things, Alistair continued down the hallway. He cringed every time a board creaked, or his armour clattered, but didn't stop until he'd made it to the relative safety of the room Zevran already occupied.

Once inside, Alistair let out a large sigh. He hadn't realized he had been holding his breath until he'd relaxed once in the room. Being back with Zevran, in an enclosed space, Alistair felt secure. Or he did until he noticed they weren't alone. It took a moment for Alistair to spot the prone form on the bed, but once he had, it was impossible to look at anything else.

There was a male qunari laying face-first on the small bed. He had his arms and legs tied behind him in intricate knots. Rope flowed over the body in a way that was almost beautiful. It was a pale sisal rope which contrasted with the man's darker skin... there was so much skin.

The man was _completely _naked. Alistair blinked. Perhaps his eyes were playing tricks on him. He rubbed them and looked again. Nope. The man really was trussed up like a hog, naked as the day he was born.

“Err… Zev?” Alistair stammered. “He’s –_naked._”

“Yes. I am aware of that, Alistair. I _am_ the person who tied him up.”

Zevran nudged Alistair further into the room, taking up a spot next to the door. He left the door cracked open just enough to see through.

“Uh… Zev?”

“Yes, Alistair?” Zevran asked, in a clipped tone. His focus was on the hallway.

“Why is there a naked Quanri tied up on the bed?”

“Because it may be valuable to question him regarding Rendon Howe. It was this or kill him,” Zevran said quite matter-of-factly.

Alistair looked closer at the prone man’s face. He recognized him. He’d seen him with Paedan. Which one was he? Jarvy or Tennant?

_Really, Alistair, does it matter?_ He turned his back to the captive and looked at Zevran.

“So… what’s going on?”

“The Warden got Paedan.” Zevran shrugged one shoulder. “This one was running to get help.”

“How do you know he wasn’t just running because a Grey Warden was murdering someone?”

“A hunch.” Another little shrug. “Which he confirmed. He was more than happy to spill that he worked for Arl Howe, tasked with hunting down and killing Grey Warden loyalists – at least, he was happy to tell me once he had my blade to his throat.”

The door pushed inward, Zevran stepping back out of the way. The Warden entered, wiping the blood off her blade with a piece of cloth that looked like it used to be part of a shirt.

“How goes?” she asked, looking around the room.

“We have a little sparrow,” Zevran responded, waving at the Qunari.

“Do we?” The Warden walked… more like stomped, if you asked Alistair… over to the bed. She crouched down to be eye-level with the man, tilting her head to the side. “And what song does our sparrow sing?”

“You may have survived this time, but Arl Howe will see you dead,” the Qunari spat.

“Will he? Hm. I doubt it.” The Warden considered the quanri for a moment and then grinned. She leaned back and shouted towards the hallway. “Hey, Leliana, go get a quill and ink from Sanga.”

It didn’t take long for Leliana to arrive with a pot of ink and a quill. The Warden snatched them from her, dipping the quill as she moved to the end of the bed, looking right at the qunari’s backside.

“Hm.” She considered, tilting her head to the left and then the right like she was considering a painting. Then with a nod, she leaned forward and started scrawling over the man’s skin.

When she stepped back, Alistair could see **_Nice try. I’m coming for you_** written across the man’s ass. He tried not to laugh.

The Warden grinned and set the writing implements on the only table in the room.

“Someone will find him and cut him lose him at some point… when the ink is dry. Let us go tell Master Master Ignacio the deed is done and be gone from this place.”

* * *

The mood back at camp was subdued. Some of the companions, Alistair included, didn’t feel good about having to kill three people. Even if they were trying to kill _them_ first. Though Wynne seemed less displeased than when it was flat-out murder. Now it was self-defence. And they now knew there were bounties out for the death of Wardens. Darkspawn on one side, Arl Howe on the other. Could things get any worse?

Everyone seemed to retire early, but Alistair knew he wouldn’t sleep. He stayed up, first cleaning his gear and then simply poking absently at the fire.

When Alistair and Zevran were alone around the fire, Alistair cleared his throat. Zevran glanced up from oiling his armour, arching a brow. Alistair cleared his throat again, this time to dislodge the lump in his throat.

“Hey… uh… Zevran…” Another throat clearing. “That rope work was pretty fancy. Whenever we captured someone when I was a, uh, Templar… or a Grey Warden… we just bound their hands together behind their backs and were done. Why’d you tie him up like that?

There wasn’t an immediate answer and Alistair started to wonder if the question had somehow upset Zevran. He was just about to apologize when Zevran smiled.

“You Fereldans default to brute strength and quick solutions. We Crows… we are not always the strongest, so we learn tricks to ensure our quarry are successfully cowed.”

Alistair considered for a moment, picturing the knotwork he’d seen. It definitely controlled the captive better than just tying the wrists. Ankles bound meant no running away. But… it looked like a lot of added work.

“It looked so complicated. How did you manage that so quickly?”

“Practice,” Zevran said with a little smile. “Would you like to learn, Alistair?”

Would he like to learn…? He recalled the flush in his cheeks when he saw the ropes play over that bound-man’s skin. The beauty in it.

As if Zevran was reading his mind, he added, “It has many uses, not just controlling prey. In Rivain it is considered an art form.”

Art… While Alistair had found it captivating he struggled to picture someone displaying knotted ropes as one would a portrait. Obviously the Riviani had very different ideas of what constituted art.

“Uh… yes. I think I would like to learn to, uh, tie someone up like you did.”

Zevran smirked and arched a brow, making Alistair blush. He was really trying not to think about using the ropes for _that_… but now he was picturing Zevran tied up before him and… _no. Stop it Alistair. What would the Chantry Mother think? _

“What better time to start than now, hm?” Zevran started packing up his cleaning supplies, as if he knew Alistair would go along with anything he suggested. He wasn’t wrong, but…

“Now? Here? Shouldn’t we be turning in?” Alistair wasn’t quite sure why he was protesting. He didn’t really _want_ to object. But his mouth just kept moving.

“Well – not here. I was thinking my tent. But if you want to do it right here…” Zevran trailed off and gave him a wink.

More blushing. And more throat clearing.

“No, no, your tent sounds perfect,” Alistair managed to get out. He spoke so quickly he was surprised Zevran even understood him, but he must have for he smiled, stood up, and gestured Alistair ahead of him towards his tent.

Legs moving as if on their own, Alistair stumbled into Zevran’s tent. He’d been concerned about the lack of light, but the fire outside shone through the thin cloth of the tent. The light was muted, but enough to see by. Also, enough that it might be possible for their companions to see their silhouettes… but everyone else were already in their tents, Alistair reminded himself.

The tent felt… heavy. Alistair couldn’t place the source, but the lump was back in his throat and his heart thudded. Feelings that only intensified as Zevran started his lesson. He pulled a length of rope from his pack, handing it to Alistair.

“The first thing you should do is make your quarry strip. Don’t do it yourself, that will expose you to potential attack. Instead, stand back and make them remove everything. This way you can see any weapons.” Zevran began undressing as he spoke. His weapons were set aside but not out of reach. He made fast work of his leather armour and smalls. “This also creates a power imbalance between you – the clothed captor – and the nude captive. Use every advantage you can get.”

When his armour, weapons and clothing had been set aside, Zevran stepped to the centre of the tent. He stood before Alistair, no sign of discomfort from his nudity. Not that Alistair really expected him to by shy about it. Zevran had never hesitated to strip down in front of the party when it was time for a dip in a lake or river. Nudity seemed to be nothing to him.

Alistair couldn’t say he felt the same. He pictured himself in Zevran’s position – naked and vulnerable in a room with someone completely clothed. He felt heat in his cheeks and down his neck, blushing at just the _thought _of standing naked before Zevran. It wasn’t a displeasing thought… but it did conflict with Alistair’s chaste Chantry upbringing.

Zevran cleared his throat, snapping Alistair from his wandering thoughts.

“Are you going to use that rope, or should I get dressed?” Zevran asked matter-of-factly. It was like this was any other lesson. Like Zevran was teaching him how to set a string trap across a road.

“How…” Alistair cleared his throat as his voice cracked. “How do I start?”

“Step behind me…”

Alistair moved around to stand behind Zevran.

“Closer,” Zevran said, his tone kind but also commanding. Alistair shuffled forward. There was no confidence in how he moved. He felt uncertain. Shy. Like his first day at Templar training.

“Now?” Alistair asked quietly. He was so close to Zevran he could feel the heat coming off the brown skin.

“Reach around and take my wrists in your hands. Don’t drop the rope in the process – bending down to retrieve it would be a perfect opportunity to kick you in the face and escape.”

“Ri… right.” Alistair wrapped his arms around Zevran, gripping each wrist. He was concerned he’d lose the rope, as his hands suddenly felt sweaty. He cringed, realizing his sweaty hands were wrapped around Zevran’s delicate wrists.

“Now pull them behind my back… Yes, good. Just like that.” Alistair moved Zevran’s arms gently behind his back, and gripped both wrists in one hand. Zevran was so lithe compared to Alistair’s own lumbering form. “Place the center if the rope on the underside of the wrists. Now, bring the ends of the rope up and cross them over at the top of the wrists. When you’ve done that, tie a knot. Not too tight, hermoso, you don’t want to cut off the blood flow. People can lose hands that way. Not pretty.”

“Done,” Alistair said with the conviction of a student successfully finishing a long equation on a board in front of the entire class. He had a small smile on his face. Being so close to Zevran’s naked body should have been a distraction, however Alistair was so focused on following instructions that he’d almost forgotten Zevran’s warm, naked body was meer inches from him.

Zevran twisted his wrists and tried to pull them apart. He tested the bonds for a minute before finally nodding.

“Very good. Very good, hermoso.” Was there a slight purr to Zevran’s voice? No. Alistair must be hearing thing. “Now, make your captive kneel or have them lay face-first on a bed or floor with their knees bent. If they refuse to kneel, you can use your knee against the back of their’s and force them down.”

It took Alistair a good minute for Zevran to kneel for him to realize Zevran wasn’t going to do it voluntarily. Alistair closed the small distance between them, placing his hands on Zevran’s shoulders, and with a knee pressed again Zevran’s, he forced him onto the floor. It was anything but a smooth move, but when it had been completed Zevran nodded.

“You’re doing well, Alistair.”

Could Zevran sense how unsure Alistair was? Probably. It wasn’t like he was doing a good job of hiding it.

“From here, you will bind the ankles. Twist the two ends of rope together as you bring them down towards the feet.” Alistair followed along as Zevran spoke. “Now, separate them again, one for each ankle. Wrap the ankles once and then wrap the rope back to the centre piece… Now you can knot them. Tie each rope off around the centre piece. Don’t worry, they won’t be completely secure. They should slide up or down the centre piece a bit.”

“I think I have it…” Alistair gave his handywork a gentle tug to make sure his knots weren’t going to immediately unravel. They didn’t. He felt a small flush of pride. He took a step back and looked at Zevran bound at his feet and swallowed. The flush of pride became a burn. There was something about seeing the nimble, confident assassin subdued and naked. Alistair wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling but whatever it was had replaced the pride with some more… primal. His blood felt like it was on fire.

Once again Zevran tested the rope. It held. There was some give from the knots around the centre piece; Zevran’s legs had a small range of motion but not enough to stand and certainly not enough to run away. 

“The bit of movement is good. You don’t want to cause damage to your prisoner, just contain them. By allowing small movements you protect the joints.”

How Zevran continued to sound like a sage teacher while in this condition baffled Alistair.

“You have done very well, Alistair. You are a fast learner.”

“Thank… you. Just have a good teacher, I guess.” Alistair rubbed the back of his neck, blushing at the praise.

Zevran made a sound in his throat that sounded almost like a… purr? 

“Is there something else you’d like me to teach you, Alistair?”

Sure, there were actually a number of things Alistair wanted to learn from Zevran. How to move quietly. How to throw a knife. How to move with such speed. How to disarm traps…

“Alistair?” Zevran’s voice had dropped and had taken on a husky tone. Alistair recognized that tone, but it had never been directed at him. He’d only heard it when Zevran was talking to the Warden right before they…

_Oh. _

_Oh!_

He looked at Zevran kneeling before him, beautifully wrapped in rope. The primal burn flared back up but instead of pushing it aside, Alistair embraced it. He stepped around so he was able to see Zevran’s face. He had to duck a little as he did, the tent only being tall enough for him at its center.

When he looked down into Zevran’s face he saw greeted with a look that, again, he’d only ever seen directed at the Warden. He trailed his eyes down Zevran’s neck, admired the curve of the muscles as he followed them down…

_Oh, Maker._

Alistair swallowed and quickly moved his eyes back up.

“Do you not like what you see?” Zevran asked, tilting his head back to look up at Alistair, exposing his long neck… a very lovely neck. When Alistair didn’t immediately respond, Zevran dragged his eyes down Alistair’s body, obviously deliberately slow, and stopped at the bulge in his breeches. “Well…” That purr was back in Zevran’s voice, “You must be liking _something_ you’re seeing.”

If a blush could burn at hotly as Alistair felt it, he would have burned down the tent.

“I…. uh….” Throat clearing. “No… I mean…Uh…” Neck rubbing. Blushing. “Yes… I…I do. Like what I see that is.”

“It is okay, Alistair. There is nothing wrong with what you feel.” While still husky, Zevran’s voice was soft and reassuring. Kind.

Alistair relaxed a little. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and suddenly noticed how clammy his hands were. He rubbed them on his thighs, hoping it looked more like a nervous tick than anything else. Maker knew he had enough of those.

“Take off your shirt.” Zevran had returned to the tone he had been using while instructing Alistair in knots. It seemed a little odd given the new mood, but Alistair responded well to commands. His mind focused better when he had instruction. So, he followed orders. He slowly unlaced the front of his shirt, fingers fumbling at first. As he slipped the shirt up over his head, Zevran made an appreciative noise in his throat.

“Now your breeches.”

His fingers surer this time, Alistair undid his breeches. He pushed them off his hips, giving a small wiggle on purpose… and suddenly remembered he was wearing boots.

_Of course you’re wearing boots, Alistair._

The momentary confidence and surety disappeared. He bent over to pull off his boots but the waist of his breeches now around his thighs made it hard to extend his leg and he nearly toppled over onto Zevran.

“Slowly, Alistair. No need to rush. Never rush.” Zevran laughed softly. For a moment Alistair felt self-conscious. Zevran was laughing at him. But then he looked at Zevran and saw the gentle smile on his lips and the softness of his eyes, and he knew there was no malice in the laugh.

It was still a struggle to get the boots off, but Alistair managed. Not rushing made it seem easier. He set the boots against the side of the tent, then returned to his breeches. It was hard to get the confidence back, but Alistair tried.

And Zevran helped.

“Good boy,” he cooed. “So gorgeous.”

No one had called Alistair that before. He was always the clumsy goof. No one looked twice at him. And why would they? He was the type of person to get his tongue stuck to a metal post in the middle of winter…

“Alistair, focus on me.” Zevran must have noticed his mind wandering. It did that. A lot.

“Okay…” Alistair said uncertainly, looking down at Zevran’s bright eyes. Were they glowing in the dim light?

“Now your smalls, Alistair. Let me look at you.” As Alistair obeyed, Zevran rumbled and smiled. “So lovely.”

It was both liberating and completely nerve-wracking to stand naked before Zevran. Alistair should have felt in control, seeing as it was Zevran who was bound before him, but somehow Zevran still held the power.

“Come closer.”

A couple of shuffled steps.

“Alistair,” Zervan said, tone turning a little terse.

Alistair swallowed and stepped so he was practically standing on Zevran’s knees. It made things… interesting. Zevran’s face was just at the right height to be level with…

_Oh – _

“Maker,” Alistair sighed out, head falling back and eyes closing. In one quick movement, Zevran had slipped his lips around Alistair’s cock and nearly swallowed all of him. It was so sudden, Alistair’s brain nearly short circuited. And before he could gain back his faculties, the warmth of Zevran’s mouth was gone and he was shocked by the cool air.

“Good boy,” Zevran murmured, before engulfing Alistair again.

Like his smooth and deft movements on the battlefield, Zevran’s tongue danced and swirled in ways Alistair couldn’t begin to fathom even when he could think clearly… and right now he was barely remembering to breathe.

Even without the use of his hands, Zevran’s movements were smooth. Alistair was sure he would have face-planted on the ground by this point. Time lost all meaning and the world shrank down so only Zevran and Alistair existed. Alistair sighed and groaned, and despite himself, even cursed, as Zevran expertly worked him into a frenzy.

Zevran pulled back, leaving Alistair’s cock to the night air. Alistair’s hips thrust forward and Zevran chuckled.

“Patience,” he murmured. He shifted on his knees, moving just a touch closer. Alistair felt his nose nuzzle against the inside of his thigh and then move inward. Zevran’s breath tickled a little and Alistair almost stepped away… then the warmth of Zevran’s tongue returned.

“Merciful Andraste!” Alistair’s knees nearly buckled as Zevran’s tongue drew a line from the base of his balls, along the underside of his cock and swirled around the head. Zevran sucked the tip between his lips and chuckled, creating little vibrations that made Alistair’s toes curl.

And then he was swallowed to the base. There was a sensation he couldn’t quite place… and lights burst behind his eyes. The tent was filled with a guttural moan and this time Alistair’s knees did give way. He fell forward, hips pressed against Zevran’s face and hands on his shoulders to keep himself upright.

He was panting heavily when he felt Zevran tap his thigh. He pulled back, blinking down at Zevran who was inhaling deeply.

“Oh…uh… Sorry,” Alistair said sheepishly, stumbling back a step. “Can I… uh…help?”

Zevran’s face was flushed and he was grinning. “Mmm. Perhaps help me out of these ropes, hm?” He sounded winded.

Alistair wasn’t sure his fingers would work. They were tingling – sort of like when your arm falls asleep because you’ve been laying on it too long, but not quite, this didn’t have the edge of pain that did. He moved slowly behind Zevran, still not completely stable, and fussed with the knots. They were surprisingly easy to undo, thank the Maker.

As Alistair set the rope aside, Zevran stood. He rubbed his arms and legs, massaging them.

“Were the ropes too tight?” Alistair asked, concerned.

“No, no. Quite perfect. My limbs have just been in the same position too long. It is always good to move the joints and massage the limbs after being freed from your bindings.” Zevran closed the few steps between him and Alistair, placing a hand on Alistair’s chest. He stood on his tip toes to reach Alistair’s lips.

This wasn’t Alistair’s first kiss. He had been kissed before. Once. It was nothing like this. Zevran was passionate, as he was in all things. His lips pressed hard against Alistair’s, then he found his lower lip being sucked and nibbled on. Then it was over. Zevran had stepped back. Alistair let out a sad whimper as he opened his eyes.

“Ah my sweet Alistair,” Zevran said with a smile. “Such a good boy. Maybe next time we will see how pretty _you_ look in rope.”

“Next time?” Alistair had assumed this was a one-time thing. Zevran was with the Warden wasn’t he? “We’re done? Shouldn’t I, uh,” He glanced down at Zevran’s groin and back up. “Return the, uh, favour?”

Zevran laughed, already slipping on his smalls. “Not this time. You have been so good tonight, that instruction can wait for another day.”

“Oh,” Alistair said, a little crestfallen. Then yawned. “Right.”

“I promise we can do this again, Alistair.” Zevran stepped up again and this time his kiss was light and gentle. “You are tired. Go sleep. You are of no use to the Warden if you are exhausted.

Alistair mumbled an acquiescence and quickly got dressed. The boots were almost as much of a problem to get on as they were to get off and when he’d finished dressing, he felt exhausted. Zevran was right. Sleep.

“Uh… thank you?” Alistair had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to say. “Have a, uh, good night.”

“Good night, Alistair. You did very well. Until next time.” Zevran chuckled.

Alistair practical fled Zevran’s tent before he could say anything stupid. He was moving his tent flap when the Warden’s voice filled the air in a sing-song: “Good night Alistair, hope you had fun!”

_Oh, for the love of the Maker’s Bride. _

They’d heard everything. All of them had heard him…

Whole face burning, Alistair flew into his tent, pulling the flap closed behind him and swearing he was never leaving the tent _ever_ again.


End file.
